


Captive Audience

by TrenchcoatsandMisery



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Assassins & Hitmen, Bonding, Dark Sansa, Enemies to Friends, F/M, Implied/Referenced Torture, Kidnapped, Ramsay is His Own Warning, Sansa-centric, Spies & Secret Agents, maybe to lovers, we'll see
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-19
Updated: 2019-09-10
Packaged: 2020-03-07 17:47:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 4,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18878143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrenchcoatsandMisery/pseuds/TrenchcoatsandMisery
Summary: Sansa is not having a good day. She's been captured by some asshole who calls himself the flayed man, she can't move more than two paces in her cell and being a spy isn't really useful if there's no one to spy on.There's also the fact that next door to her cell is a smart ass assassin who has not learned to cooperate with their crazy mob boss captor. Sansa and Theon struggle to survive but with the help of each other, they do ok.





	1. Hey Stranger

**Author's Note:**

> Alternative titles are welcome. Not quite sure if this is the way I wanted to go with this idea, so feedback would be appreciated

Sansa Stark is not used to failure. Considering she’s chained to the wall by the very man she’s been hunting for the last month, it’s no surprise she’s pissed. She can’t seem to move past it. How did he know she was there? Yesterday she’d been drinking tea and watching camera footage of Ramsay Bolton kicking the shit out of some valet and now she had the sinking feeling that what was going to happen to her would be much worse. 

“Great Job. The first time you fail an assignment you get captured by the asshole who calls himself the Flayed man.”

It’s not even very creative. Sure, he flays some of the guys he captures, but why give it away with an obvious codename? Hers, Lady, fits her perfectly. It’s not threatening, tells potential victims nothing about her or her M.O and keeps her difficult to trace. She had wanted something a little more, she doesn’t know, deadly? But Arya, excuse me, the faceless one had insisted it suited her. You don’t argue with her. Sansa sighs and half heartedly rattle her chains.

“It’s better than the flayed man that’s for certain.”

“What is?”

Her heart stops for a second. Shit. Shit. Shit. She hadn’t realised anyone else was near. She wonders if it’s HIM, but discounts that idea quickly. She barely heard mystery man’s voice but she could tell he had a different accent than the recording of Ramsay Bolton she’d listened to. Deep Breath. Sweet voice. Give nothing away.

“Just thinking about names. What’s your’s mysterious voice?”

She follows it up with a light and airy giggle, regretting the fact he can’t see her perfected innocent head tilt as she does it. Silence. Sansa wonders if she’s lost her touch, or maybe her pretty face is what really sells the sweet Bambi act. The idea is slightly disappointing, but she can’t really get all femisist about it because that is the main way she gets information. Low shirts, girly dresses and a lot of scotch. A raspy chuckle snaps her out of her internal crisis though, the man’s voice croaking out a word.

“Spy.”

She frowns.

“Your name is spy?”

Another laugh. He talks like he’s smiling, the words lilting as if spoken from curved lips. For no reason at all, it makes Sansa want to punch him in the face.

“That’s not my name. You talk like a spy. Why else would a sweet talking girl like you be in Ramsay Bolton’s, Mob Boss of westeros, basement? So why don’t you tell me your codename neighbour. Seems like we’re gonna be down here for awhile.”

If she wasn’t so sure he was a spy as well she’d be miffed that he saw past her act. But now she knows that he knows that she’s a spy, that he’’s being kept in a cell next to her and that this man knows exactly who Ramsay is. 

“Lady. I go by Lady. And what about you? Maybe I’ll recognise it.”

“Kraken. I’m not a spy though. A little dirtier than that.”

“Informant? Mercenary? Maybe one of the ‘Flayed man’s’ lackeys?”

“Assassin. At your service.”

What Sansa wouldn’t give to go back to yesterday. She could really do with a cup of tea right now.


	2. Names

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa is getting bored. Theon is getting tortured.

If Sansa were a dramatic person, which despite many people who would say otherwise she is _not_ , she would say that listening to the Kraken talk was worse than torture. In the real world it is unfortunately not, because while the Kraken playing a game of one-sided eye spy in his cell is annoying as FUCK, Ramsay Bolton knows his stuff. Sansa has been lashed, cut and has currently gone three days without food, yet she still has the sense that she’s getting it easy. If she is being honest to herself the worst nights aren’t the torture ones, though they are pretty bad, or the nights where the Kraken talks for hours on end about nothing. The worst nights are when she hears the door to his cell open and the sound of his body hitting the ground. The nights where he doesn’t speak at all, the rare silence interrupted by the occasional sob. Sansa doesn’t know how long he’s been here, but sometimes she hears Ramsay talking to him when as he’s taken to Ramsay’s “work” station, and the twisted softness in the bastard’s voice makes her think the Kraken has been here for a very long time.

Tonight, she’s guessing its night or at least early morning from the yawning guard outside, he hasn’t come back yet. Her stomach is in knots, and not just from the lack of food. She’s worried. The thought surprises her. She’s good at not forming attachments, preferring to stay cold and deadly like the classy spy she is. She doesn’t even know the man, the Kraken, though she knows he loves the sea and spy movies and that he hates crab and people who high five for anything-

She groans. She’s his friend. He’s her friend. They’re friends. Strangers don’t now that they each learned all the lyrics to embarrassing songs (him, the entire Hamilton soundtrack. Her, every song that Elsa sings in frozen). Strangers don’t argue about things like whether or not Hannibal really loves Will. Swap their cells for a nice café and the wall for a phone, and they’re just two idiots hanging out with a little torture thrown in. She can’t believe she hadn’t noticed, she’s a world class _spy_ for god's sake. 

Then there’s the sound of his cell door opening, an ominous creak that jerks her out of her newfound revelation. A guard laughs, something hits the floor, the door closes. Silence. 

“Kraken?"

She thinks she hears a sob. He shuffles and there’s a sound that makes Sansa thinks he’s collapsed against the wall. They must be leaning back to back now, or at least something close to that and she wonders if the rattling sound she can her is a collapsed lung. 

“I… I can’t remember my name.”

The voice is so quiet she almost misses it. She feels cold at how young he sounds, a boy scared and seeking reassurance. She doesn’t know what to say, licks cracked lips as she tries to help.

“Of course you do silly. It’s Kraken.”

“My real name. I can’t remember my real name, _oh gods_ I can’t remember my own name. He calls me Reek, tells me I’m Reek, and **I don’t know if he’s telling the truth** ”

She doesn’t know when she started crying. Maybe when his voice broke as he called for his gods, maybe when he said the word Reek, with so much hatred and anguish that she knows he’s not lying. She doesn’t- She doesn’t know what to do. There’s only one thing that might help.

“My name’s Sansa. That’s my real name. Sansa Stark. I have a sister called Arya and three brothers, called Jon, Bran, and Rickon. You have a sister. You have a sister called Asha, though I suspect that’s not her real name.”

Her eyes are blurry with the tears and she struggles to keep her voice soft and reassuring.

“You told me yourself. Only codenames. Well, I told you my real name so now you’ve got to tell me yours. It’s not fair if you let a Lady break the rules by herself. Please. Tell me your name. Remember your name. Do it for me.”

She can hear the harsh rattle of his breath, the hushed sound of hers. She stares at the mold stained wall in front of her and curses all the gods, the seven, the old gods, anyone for what they’ve done to them. For putting them in this position. She will kill Ramsay Bolton if it’s the last thing she does. 

Sansa closes her eyes. All she can hear is his breathing, struggled gasps, in and out. And then, just as she loses hope, a voice. Low and dry but definitely the Kraken.

“Theon. My name is Theon Greyjoy.”


	3. Promises, Promises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back again. I did this instead of homework. Let's hope I'm still as enthusiastic about this in exam season.
> 
> Alright! Fluff and angst and then fluff again!! Enjoy!

“Brown?”  
“Nope.”  
“Grey.”  
“Closer.”  
“Blue!”

A chuckle from his side of the wall.

“Yep.”

Sansa grinned. He had blue eyes. She closed her eyes and tried to imagine a smiling face, because in her mind he was always smiling like they were sharing some kind of secret joke, with blue eyes. She frowned.

“I can’t imagine it.”  
“If it helps I had a girl once describe them as ‘the colour of the sea’”  
“Did you fuck her?”  
“Not relevant.”

She let out a huff of breath, glad he couldn’t see that she was blushing. She never blushed. It wasn’t even like he said anything that should make her blush, but as she closes her eyes and pictures eyes the colour of the sea smiling at her she can’t help feel the blood rushing to her cheeks. 

“Hair colour next. I’m guessing… blond. Like an angel.”

It’s her turn to laugh.

“No. I’m closer to Hell then I am Heaven.”  
“Oh, I see. A devil in disguise. Red then. A deep red. Long.”

She wishes. Ramsay has hacked at it last week and now it hangs choppily around her shoulders. It’s lank and greasy and suddenly she’s horrified with the thought of Theon seeing her for the first time like this. If they ever see each other. But she doesn’t think about that.

“Bingo. The first thing I’m going to do when I get out of here is comb and wash it. It’s hideous.”  
“I’m sure it’s not. You’re beautiful.”  
“Theon you’ve never even met me.”  
“And you’ve never met me.”

They play these guessing games, joke and laugh. But the fact is that every day one of them is taken and tortured. Ramsay has _graciously_ allowed guards to deliver her food again, but she’s still thinner than she ever was before. She’s seen her reflection on a guard sword, know that she looks and pale, gaunt and about 5 years older. She knows that Ramsay is harder on Theon then her, though she doesn’t know why, knows that Theon has been injured far worse than her. He could be a living skeleton or just a collection of scars, a young man trapped in the body of an old man. But the fact is that she cares about Theon, more than she probably should. She thinks about him when he’s gone, feels warm when he jokes with her, feels comfortable talking to him about her family. Spies don’t form connections, constantly changing themselves to match the target, to find the best way to get information. She has been herself, the real her, for the longest time since childhood. Theon lets her, doesn’t care, and she hopes that he feels the same.

“I don’t care Theon. We’re going to escape, you and me, and then we can see each other for real. I’ll tell you if you really do have the sea in your eyes.”

There is silence, but it’s a comfortable one. She wonders if he’s imaging a girl with long red hair, who is closer to hell then heaven, a fearsome girl who has promised to rescue them. For the first time since she first met the edge of Ramsay’s blade she feels hope, because no matter her talk, a small part of her had expected to die here. 

“I promise Theon. And if there’s one thing Starks are, it’s honourable.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

And she’s glad because he sounds hopeful too. She wonders if she should tell him that her father died for honour and now Sansa and her siblings are spies. She decides against it. What he doesn’t know can’t hurt him, not while she’s alive.


	4. Who belongs to who

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm really sorry. This is just solid angst. 
> 
> I present to you, ladies and gentlemen and anyone else, Ramsay Bolton.

By the time her cell door swings open and a guard is hauling her up, she’s almost glad. When your only entertainment is the cellmate next door, who is either unconscious or sleeping, things can get really boring in a 2 by 4 cell. Ramsay is an interesting, albeit painful, change of pace. She’s dragged through a maze of stone corridors. The first time she’d seen them she’d asked if they were real or if Ramsay was going for a medieval dungeon effect and had received a punch in the face for her troubles. She stays silent now, even when a door opens and Ramsay’s pale face stares at her, a twisted smirk on his face. She’s chained to a pole, with enough space that Ramsay can get satisfaction from watching her writhing in pain but not enough space for her reach him. He likes to have the first word, so as soon as she sees him open her mouth she speaks.

“Nice weather we’re having, huh? Not that I can tell, but I’ve heard It’s pretty agreeable.”

He grins at her and there’s something bitter about it. Maybe even a little more than normal. He picks up an iron brand, hold’s it over the flames of one of his stupid dramatic fire torches. She’d always thought they were just there for aesthetic purposes and she’s beginning to regret that assumption. They’re both silent for a second as they watch the iron begin to glow.

“I’ve heard from the guards you’ve been talking to Reek.”

Reek? Oh. Reek. What he calls Theon. 

“I’ve heard that he talks back. That you’ve grown quite friendly. What do you talk about little bird?”

He stares at her with pale blue eyes and she's surprised to see something like jealousy in their depths. 

“More than he talks about with you, I’m guessing. What’s wrong Ramsay? Sad your favourite toy prefers me over you?”

Anger flares in his expression and she has enough time to realise that was a very bad idea before she’s screaming. The brand is pressing against the skin of her abdomen and he holds it there for a few seconds before pulling away. Black spots float in her vision and she thinks she might pass out, but his hand is gripping her chin and grounding her in the moment. 

“He’s mine. He’ll never belong to some bitch like you.”

He spits the words at her face and she can’t help but wonder why he cares so much. She doesn’t ask Theon what happens when he is taken from the cell, in the same way he doesn’t ask what happens to her. A thought lodges itself in her brain and her face goes slack in horror. He smiles and he’s so close now she can smell his breath, hot salami air tickling her face.

“He belongs to me little bird. In every way. But don’t worry.”

His hand slides up, cupping her breast. She snarls in his face, thrashes against the chains.

“He fights me too. He would have been mine if it wasn’t for you, he was so close to breaking. To becoming my Reek. But he’s got it in his head that you're going to escape.”

He squeezes her, once, twice and then steps back. He pushes the brand in the space between her breasts, just keeps pushing harder and harder as she howls in pain. The smell of her burning flesh fills the room and she thinks she might die, vision failing her as white-hot pain hits her brain. Just before she sinks into darkness his voice whispers in her ear.

“If you think this has a happy ending, you haven’t been paying attention.”


	5. Hope lost and found

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa has lost hope, but Theon helps her get it back.

“What are you going to do when we get out of here?

“I don’t want to play, Theon.”

She doesn’t know how long it’s been. Time is measured in increments of gruel, in how often Ramsay summons her, in how long her hair can grow before it’s slashed off again. She only knows that she’s _tired_ , but Theon won’t let her rest. 

“C’mon. There must be something.”

“Theon. I just want to sleep.”

“But the-“

“I don’t care about the stupid game.”

She feels bad, but he doesn’t say anything back. She closes her eyes, wonders how long someone can live like this. She realised 3 visits, 8 meals and 2 inches ago that she’s going to die here. Optimism doesn’t mean shit when you’re being flayed, whipped and…

It doesn’t matter. Optimism doesn’t do anything if escape is inconceivable.

She’s almost asleep when Theon speaks again, low and soft.

“I’m going to go back home. I’m going to go home, fix things with my sister. She’ll yell at me for being captured but I know she will be happy to see me. Then I’m going to go sailing.”

Silence. She sighs. 

“Sailing?” 

“Yeah. I love the sea. Kraken isn’t my codename by chance. I’m going to sail my own boat, no other crew. Just me and the sea and you.”

“Me?”

“Yes. You. We’re gonna get out of here together and we’re going to go sailing. And you’re going to eat lemon cakes on the deck and tell me I’m sailing wrong and we’ll stand in the open air and talk about stupid normal things like the weather or tv.”

She’s smiling. She can see it in her mind, sailing away with Theon. She can't believe she's going to humor him.

“And I’ll be seasick for the first week.”

“But you’ll get your sea legs and love it.”

“I’ll make you teach me how to fish. If you insist on us going to sea then I demand we catch fresh fish.”

“And you’ll be disappointed in me when I tell you I don’t know how to fish.”

The laugh bubbles out of Sansa and she covers her mouth startled. She can’t remember the last time she laughed. But now she’s started, she can feel them welling up inside and suddenly she’s giggling, tears streaming down her face.

“You’re telling me… You don’t know how to fish? Didn’t you say where you come from the sea is your life?”

He scoffs from behind the wall and she can imagine sea blue eyes glinting. 

“I was a nobles son. I didn’t have time to fish. I was too busy…”

“Being a slut?”

“What? Geesh Sansa. No. Doing noble stuff.”

“All of your stories include you getting down with some serving girl. Or a lady of some sort. Or a fisherman’s wife.” 

She doesn’t know when she lost hope. But listening to Theon sputter as he tries to defend her honour she remembers what she’s living for. That what she wants to do when she gets out is to hug her family and go sailing with this charming, broken boy far, far away where Ramsay can’t find them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am sooo sorry if anyone has been waiting for this. It's been a crazy week, or month, I can't remember when I last posted. My weekends have been full of packing for moving, a long-awaited Dnd game and several long nights of homework. I also discovered Starkid and the spies are forever fandom, so I keep watching that instead of updating. But here we are!!! I hope you enjoy it. I apologise for the hella loads of dialogue in this one but I was craving banter.


	6. Birds on the wind, fish in the sea (both are free)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Escape begins

Bloodied spit hits Ramsay square in the face and Sansa smiles. She’s still got it. She gets a backhand for her trouble though, but he’s played into her hands like the beast he is. Because Ramsay is so close his disgusting breath is tickling her face, so enraged by her act of defiance she doesn’t notice when she snags a scalpel from the torture tray. He begins to scream at her, _bitch, whore, worthless cunt_. She can’t hear him over her manic laughter, imagining the Theon of her mind stabbing the bastard in the eye.  
She’s lucky, in a way, when she’s dragged back to her cell. Of all the “gifts” Ramsay could have given her, a concussion, missing finger and 18 whip lashes on her back aren’t too bad. He could have hobbled her, broken her arms, burnt the soles of her feet. But here she is, alive and with enough limbs and consciousness to escape tonight.

“Theon. Theon. Wake the fuck up.”

Sansa knows he doesn’t sleep anymore. She doesn’t either. It helps to pretend though, so they do this act, with Theon mumbling complaints under his breath and Sansa waiting patiently for him to speak.

“What.”

“Tonight’s the night.”

“Really? What do you need from me?”

“Just sit there and look handsome. I’ve got this.”

And then she screams. It’s not one of her greatest plans, based solely on movies, but it gets the job done as a guard rushes in. She’s a little sad it’s the handsome one, the one who always lowered her gently onto the floor and only kicked her once (and only at Ramsay’s insistence), though the memory of Theon’s whimpers after he visits quell whatever sympathy she might have had for him. When he leans down and she drives the scalpel into his neck she doesn’t even think about how he probably has a family, or that this is the 2nd person she’s ever killed, or the feral fear in his eyes as he sinks to the ground choking on his own blood. 

She’s on a boat, with a sea eyed boy and a platter of lemon cakes by her side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy shit. I'm so sorry. It's been so long. Things that have prevented fanfiction:
> 
> I discovered I'm musical trash  
> I GOT A JOB AND IT'S SCARY GUYS. I MISS BEING A CHILD.  
> Mock exams are coming up *screams internally*  
> I'm moving across the world in a couple of months so things are slowwwllly being packed and it's increasing my anxiety.  
> I had no ideas. At all. THis is really short because I'm hoping writing will despawn my writers block  
> I was also writing another fanfiction (musical trash I'm so sorry) but discovered there are not tags for it... soooo... yeah.
> 
> I hope this is the same quality as the other's guys. If it's shit, comment and I'll do my best to do it better. Thanks for reading!


	7. Close

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone's favorite spy and assassin are making a break for it

Keys. Check. Sword and dagger. Check. Sansa strips the guard naked too, tired of the dirty scraps she’s been wearing for who knows how long. She’s halfway into the shirt, which is about 8 sizes too big but better than nothing, when the cracked voice of Theon breaks the silence.

“Sansa... are you ok?”

Sansa isn’t sure. She wants to scream, laugh, curl into a ball and never move. She’s standing in a pool of blood and may have just killed herself because while she has no doubt that Ramsay will keep his ‘reek’ she has a feeling that the last few weeks he’s only been using her for his own amusement. She’s expendable and this act of rebellion, if it fails, will be all he needs to feed her to his dogs. But it’s a risk she’s willing to take, so she ignores his question.

“I’ve got the keys. Put on your best smile Theon, I’m coming to get you.”

She steps into the hallway, hating the tremor in her hands as she slides the key into Theon’s door. She remembers a sweet-talking, tea drinking girl whose hands didn’t shake, whose muscles didn’t scream at the smallest movement. She isn’t sure if she misses her, but she does miss the steadiness of her hands. She takes a deep breath. Pushes the door open. And steps in. 

In her dreams, Theon is tall and lean. Athletic, a swimmer’s body, all sleek and smooth like his words and his smiles. Brown hair streaked by sun and salt, eyes blue, the ocean held within them. The man in the cell is emaciated, body pale and covered in scars, flayed patches of skin and brands. Blue eyes, the colour of the sea, staring sadly at her from beneath white hair.

“Hey Sansa.”

He’s missing some teeth. He’s missing some fingers, some toes. She’s at a loss as to what she should say.

“They do look like the sea.”

It’s the truth. Without those eyes, she doesn’t know if she’d recognise this boy, but the determination in them matches the man she’s come to love. She wonders if now is the time to tell him, the idea that they could die a dark cloud over this realisation, but it seems cruel to give both her and him false hope. He smiles at her words and the tension breaks, her lack of disgust bringing some of the confidence back into his face. He lifts his hands and shakes the chains.

“C’mon then. I don’t know about you, but I’ve got places to be.”

Once freed she has too help him stand, but once upright he straightens his back and takes a few surprisingly firm steps. She hands him the dagger and watches his face twist childishly in response.

“When you’re strong enough to use a sword I’ll let you have it, you’re lucky you’re getting anything at all.”

Together they make their way out of the cells. There are more cells, more locks that she could open and she finds herself hesitating. She could save people from what has happened to her. But Theon takes he by the elbow, shaking his head sadly as he tugs her forward.

“I’ve been here long enough Sansa. There’s no one down here you can save, nothing here worth saving.”

Something unspoken lurks beneath his words, a suggestion that maybe _he_ is not worth saving. She grabs his wrist, forces him to stop. Looks at those, blue, sad eyes and smiles.

“Theon, I lov-“

A door creaks. A dog growls. Theon looks over Sansa’s shoulder and his face pales.

“I’m very surprised.”

She turns to face Ramsay. A slow grin creeps over his face, eyes flicking over her bloodstained clothes.

“Oh Sansa. I didn’t think you had it in you. And Reek… I didn’t think you ahd the balls. I might have to change that after we get you back in your cell. “  
He drew a sword from his side and pointed it at them, tilting his head.

“This is going to be so fun.”


	8. Bastard, kraken, bird and wolf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wuh oh. Is everything going to be ok? I honestly don't know. Let's find out.

Sometimes, she used to fantasise about killing him. Some nights she pulled him close, like a lover might, sliding the knife into his heart with a gentle tenderness as she watched the life fade out of his eyes. Other times it was a frenzied attack, stabbing him until he stopped moving, until the blood made the knife too slippery to hold.

Some days she strangled him with his hound’s leash.

Some days she caved his head against his stupid stone walls.

Some days she tortured him as he whimpered for mercy on that pole.

Once she even thought about feeding him to his dogs, watching the cockiness slip from his face as his weapons of torment tore him apart.

It filled the time in that cramped, cold cell. Sansa had never considered herself a killer, more of a honeypot spy. She remembers when she was the Lady, elegant and beautiful, sipping tea and eating lemon cakes as she pondered which dress to wear to see the German ambassador. A little bird, singing sweet little songs into the ears of the rich. But that’s not her anymore.

The battle is brutal. Ramsay hasn’t been starved and tortured for the last couple of months, so his sword is wielded with precision and strength. What he doesn’t have, however, is the desire for vengeance. For him, this is a game, toys that need to be put back into place. To Theon and Sansa this is survival, this is revenge, this is for every cut and burn and touch that Ramsay has given them. It’s in the way that Theon slits the hound's throat, in the way that Sansa parries ever blow from the bastard’s falchion.  
For a while, they’re winning. Two against one, Ramsay’s façade begins to slip.

Until Theon falls.

It’s a lucky jab if Sansa’s being honest. For a long time, Theon hasn’t moved more than the walk to Ramsay’s torture chamber. He hasn’t held a weapon in many months. His arms falter slightly as he parries a swing meant for Sansa, and that’s all it takes. The sword slices across his chest and he falls. Sansa doesn’t have enough breath to call out to him, not enough time to check if he’s dead or not. Ramsay is already lunging at her and it takes all her strength to fight him off. The second wind from Theon’s fate means that the bastards attacks are now a constant barrage, pushing her, back until there’s nowhere else to go.

The smile that spread across his face makes her want to rip him apart, but the knife at her throat restrains any urge to go at him.

“Oh, little bird. Trapped once again.”

He put a little more pressure onto his sword, the blade leaving a shallow cut that began to bead with blood. 

“You’re mine, little bird. I was going to fuck you, gut you, feed you to my dogs. But there’s a little bit of fire in you. I might keep you now that my Reek’s broken.”

He threw his head back and laughed, pressing himself closer to Sansa, grinning as the knife pushes itself further into her flesh.

“I worked hard on my Reek. He didn’t know his place and I taught him, taught him good. Tough love, I like to call it. It’s an unfortunate loss that he’s dead, but his body still has its… Uses.”

She can’t bear to look at his face, the twisted glee in his eyes. That’s how she sees the ghost, white-haired and bloodstained, rise from the floor. A dagger is clutched in its hands. She thinks it's fair that the ghost of her first love is there for her death. She wonders if he still feels pain. She wonders if she’ll still feel pain. Then the ghost is moving towards them, Ramsay doing his villain speech complete with graphic descriptions of her future and manic self-worship, and she realises Theon's eyes are still that sea colour. She smiles, watching as he lifts the dagger, his worn voice breaking Ramsay's monologue.

“Fuck you asshole."

Ramsay’s face turns pale, moving to turn, but the knife has already entered his back. He grasps at the end, pulling it out, staggering towards Theon. And Sansa grabs him and growls and rips out his throat.

She’s not a little bird anymore. She’s a wolf.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. I've reread the story and man it got dark. Very sorry. I will be doing an extra chapter or so, for both you guys and myself, because we've dealt with all this shit and haven't even got to see Thansa properly. Probably some fluff, definitely some PTSD, when will it be? Don't ask me that. Soon I hope. Thanks everyone for the 2000 views and the 114 kudos, very proud and very glad you guys seem to be liking it.


End file.
